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Twenty years ago, Greg Meleney was on the cusp of quitting his day job. His band Danava (a Sanskrit word that roughly translates to “descendants of demons”) made waves with its self-titled debut. Danava stood out in the sloppy jeans and T-shirt Portland metal scene. They wore glam outfits. They toured with Glass Candy. They had stage names.
Meleney went by Dusty Sparkles in those days. “Dusty Sparkles meant meth,” he says. “This is a joke, but, you know…there’s also a Sesame Street fat cat named Murray Sparkles.”
Playing uncompromising boogie prog requires another, more stable income stream. So for the past eight years, Meleney, who’s now nearly 50, has been head waiter at the beloved Southeast Gladstone Street Japanese restaurant Yoko’s. “I wouldn’t fucking quit that job for a goddamn tour,” Meleney says in his distinctive Midwest drawl, “unless that tour was paying me good, and you know it won’t.”
Danava’s live action has tapered off in recent years. But on Tuesday, Oct. 20, the group reunited to celebrate the 20-year anniversary of that debut, playing the blistering album Danava in its entirety at Polaris Hall. At the show, a joint celebration of Meleney’s classic tunes and his boss (sushi restaurant owner) Yoko Funabashi’s birthday, Meleney and company pounded through the album’s five epic songs. Cascades of tom-toms and 10-minute suites of relentless guitar jams were bolstered by an array of ’70s analog synths.
The sold-out show was a class reunion for a certain set of Portland rock history. Some looked exactly 20 years older. The harder living looked like they’d put on 40. The songs had aged gracefully, though Meleney was perhaps worse for wear. His long hair was intact but no longer jet black. He played his angular Gibson Explorer seated, clearly under severe duress, as he was battling a combination of “a back pull and acute bronchitis.”
The universe seemed to conspire against this anniversary, but too much was at stake. With 300 tickets sold, old fans flying in for the occasion, and the staff of Yoko’s taking the night off, the show had to go on. Pulling it off meant more than triumphing over Meleny’s ear, nose, throat and back issues. Three of Danava’s members had quit a few weeks earlier.
Creating a bit of a something-old, something-new sextet, three former members stepped in and rallied around Meleney. With scarce rehearsal time, the impromptu group—comprising original drummer (and eighth wonder of the world) Monte Mattson, guitarist Andy Forgash, bassist Mario Rodriguez, keyboardist Dan Kim, and lead vocalist Vy Campbell—put noses to grindstone and, apparently, rocked hard enough to give Meleney bronchitis.
“We played for, like, 12 hours or something on Sunday,” Meleney says. “I just woke up [Monday] and couldn’t fucking breathe. My back was all seized. I couldn’t do anything.”
His sickness was worrisome—“I was basically doing Lamaze to keep myself from freaking out,” Meleney says—and some corners were cut. “We have three more synthesizers we wanted to use.” Interludes were stricken; there was no encore. Nevertheless, it was a night for the ages. The 300 in attendance cheered as the last note of album closer “Maudie Shook” decayed and Meleney staggered offstage.
“They just fucking put it together without missing a beat,” says Meleney, gushing about the bandmates, and clearly moved by their investment in his life’s work.
The name Danava was bestowed upon the band by visionary and unpredictable founding member Ben Vargas, though he was out of the band soon after the first demo was recorded. Hawkwind, Amon Düül II, Thin Lizzy and Iron Maiden seemed to be the prime musical ingredients. Singer-guitarist Meleney and drummer Mattson had grown up together. They, along with bassist Zach Deloretto-Blackwell (aka “the boyz from Illinois”), moved to Oregon shortly before forming the band in 2003.
A New York label with deep pockets picked them up. A mere six months after the first album was released, Kemado Records caught up with Danava at SXSW and demanded a second record. By July 2007, the group was back in the studio working on a double album that included sidelong tracks, layers of synths, and a brass section. “I pulled it off,” Meleney says, though he admits the sophomore effort, Unonou, may be a bit overworked, in retrospect. “Some of those songs have, like, 124 tracks on them, man.” Luminary designer Syd Mead (Tron, Blade Runner) painted a wraparound album cover, which was cool but seems to have also flown over the heads of more than a few rockers.
A dozen years passed between the release of Danava’s third album, Hemisphere of Shadows, and 2024’s lean, mean, guitar-driven Nothing but Nothing. Danava had toured America and Europe with a Rolodex of killer metal artists like Down, Voivod and Melvins, but commercial success was nowhere to be found. Members came and went. No one was making a living off the music.
Meanwhile, Meleney earned a reputation for comedic rambling and apparently intoxicated stage rants. Though in Meleny’s telling, he was never that bad; he’s seen a few videos. “I am fucking goofy,” he says with a grin. “I could have been meaner.”
Meleney says he “always looked way more fucked up than I really was,” but he has given up drinking to make room for the music. He chalks up the personnel changes to personalities, mentioning that he’s closest with singer Vy Campbell, the lone member who didn’t defect last month.
Danava’s sound has always brought on retro labels. Performing a classic album in full has put the phrase “legacy act” in the air. Meleney has different ideas. “I think I’m modern,” he says, and, creatively, he’s not looking for his “Cheeseburger in Paradise” days just yet.
“I’ve yet to even scratch the surface of what I want to do,” he says. Considering the body of work that he’s written so far, that’s an exciting prospect. Mattson’s return behind the drums opens another door. “He plays every instrument,” Meleney says. “And that’s the beauty of what we’re gonna go for now—we can do anything we want.”
It’s the business side of the music business, however, that Meleney is looking to leave behind. “I want to make music,” he says. “Just show up, make music.” He may live in a slightly different reality than the rest of us, but Dusty Sparkles is pretty zen about his place in the music world today. “Just because I’m not in the limelight doesn’t mean I’m not fucking playing music every single day,” Meleney says, “or dreaming it.”
